While I don't like Trump...I enjoyed the fact that he ruptured and fractured the political fraternity. It's a joke that pinheads and muppets govern the states. If this bottle-blonde, bald-headed xxxx makes a difference in the current state of affairs...I would be pleasantly pleased.

"...trump can't change the fact the america was all but bankrupted by what went before, it's a debt of 17trillon debt today..." ventured the goblin, adding "...yet in its stead though he can at least take america back from the brink of war with russia...", where if truth be told capital hill is now so corrupt that anyone wishing to get there had to be corrupt then, smiling "...yes trump is corrupt but his crimes are not those of hillery and her entourage, so in short it's not so much "the lesser of two evils" but more "the better of two corruptions", in that hillery's track record showed she was on sale to the highest contributor to her foundation, but where trump mind you was corrupt for himself as always, which is somewhat better perhaps..."

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"...I'm not posting mine with yours, I'm posting my tracks after yours..." replied the goblin trying to relate here, adding "...though to be honest none of any of this is mine neither, where I don't exist and where they're only tracks that I like, btw shouldn't you be in bed by now, I mean you've got work in the morning where people do have work in australia I imagine...", in fact, it was only late sunday afternoon but the goblin already felt sleepy here, so he just added one more track that kind of summed up for him what the media must be going through now that its sure bet electorate hadn't voted as the media had foreseen, explaining "...guess it turned out to be the moment where those six major corporations who owned between them 80% of all media outlet in america learned the hard way that they didn't quite own the electorate after all, as if the devil they had known till then had died, instead now they just joined everyone else in being faced with the devil they didn't know as of yet, all not to plan anymore..."

Alas, alas my brownly spottled green goblin, the worm has turned. Lacking fodder some Trumpeters feed upon themselves, but the feed is light! All grass no oats. Hardly a proper meal. Others suffer moderation, as they don't understand what a true victor is to begin with. Which is of course the real irony here. Victors acting like losers. Trump is hardly the end of the world. I was upset about it for about twenty minutes the following morning, then forgot about it after seeing the juicy line I will be getting in the upcoming Patriots game Sunday. Speaking of lines, Notre Dame will not cover over Army nor will Alabama who's giving 29. You heard it here first, Orc! WhatwasIsaying? Oh yes. Hillary and my main man who was almost "First Dude" Bill will be just fine going forward. They will make sizable sums speaking and otherwise raising money. In other words, they will be living the good life. Not bad for losers, eh? Me you should ask? Well, as you should ask and before you do so, I will tell you before you would otherwise have been told to save myself from the agony of telling it. A negative and a negative equals a positive. I suspect being an American and America in general will get better. The Democratic administration has failed to deliver on domestic economic issues (jobs mainly), so the electorate has failed to continue to support said administration. Trump has two years almost free reign to at least attempt to improve the job market. This is what his administration must do. Failing to do so will be disastrous for Republicans next election. Personally, I hope Trump is successful. Americans who don't hope the same are not Americans. They are no different than you, my Orc friend-

"...agreed the election might be over now but the running of the asylum is at it was then, where for the most part it had to be business as usual too..." observed the goblin knowing the trump could well have borrowed hilter's words, "we won, and what's really clear is that we won against everyone and everything" where even his own party was against him really, while hilery had stood for the status quo, one where that ruse of first promising "boys home by chirstmas, close gitmo, and rectify that patriot act" and then substituting that agenda there with another agenda called "gun laws, gay rights and obama care" with the media implicit and bought off into silence rightly didn't work after eight years of it, so trump didn't win against hillery so much he won against the falsehood of obama's ruse, whereupon the goblin looked up to the chief and said "...you see hilter never came into power, it came to him in the corruption and weakness of the weimar republic, and no I'm not a fan of hitler neither but the parallels with today are uncanny..."

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"...well, I'm green myself, yet that much you'd have probably guessed by now, where us goblins kind of get a bad rep in the press being lumped in with those orks and you trolls now..." mentioned the goblin hoping xxxxx didn't mind his hijacking the thread in pure troll fashion before adding "...naah, I don't really know much about orks myself but we've little in common with you trolls, I mean take a look at those troll posts, does anyone remember what they write today let alone tomorrow, plus will their writing improve like that, therefore years pass here with little to show for their passing, me I don't care for my external, nor for all that conformity that is expected of me just because of how I appear or where I come from, no what I care about is what lies within still, just I am me by my posts I guess, that's selfish I know but remains mostly that goal I post towards, just here is my practice ground for writing out my thoughts...", some time while the goblin had been unaware writing this the sun had risen up behind him giving out to what was of sunny day in late autumn with just shadow of light mist, where if writing was an elusive creature then sleep had to be its companion for the little the goblin's mind ever got but time was of the essence

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Some posters prefer to get right to the point rather just write fleamailman.. That's understandable considering most people have a limited amount of time online.. Both are good in my opinion. ac_smile

"...but how about you though..." inquired the goblin returned from work this cold evening time, continuing "..."straight to the point" is ok for those type posters, but does it make for good reading longterm, so it's a balance of content and presentation where one without the other loses that reader for something else somewhere else eventually, where the trick is to see if they remain...", perhaps the goblin was paraphrasing lord chesterfield idea of presentation without content is tin, content without presentation is lead, whereas presentation with content is gold, before adding "...troll's post are too blunt whereas writertypes's too wordy, so I guess that just leaves the individual to decide what balance is best for them, see you were right, but then how do you see your posts now..."

If you feel the owner of this board lacks presentation, content or both, you do not have to read or respond to her posts. I like her though, she is good people.

"...I'm not accusing anyone of anything, only was asking how she saw her own posts..." repeated the goblin then becoming a bit more honest about it, restarting "...no, using her really I was asking myself that question if only because of two things now, one that the readership goes up with the practice meaning one's benchmark becomes apparent, and two that those years simply pass in chitchat if one doesn't have a direction vis a vis one's own benchmark now..." in fact, if anything the goblin appreciated the fact that most of the posts by the trolls had neither much presentation nor content to them, but he would feel guilty if he were to do that himself, sighing "...do note how the troll's posts get so stunted in their defensiveness, where most writers on the other hand would hold their own posts in contempt it seems, where neither their book writing style nor that book writing effort is apparent in their posts I mean, most odd when more readers read "short interactive content" than most anything else, where our posts are "short interactive content" between us...", in short, it was because trolls were expected to troll while humans was expected to post plainly in first person that the goblin had no intention of doing neither today, instead he just related "...trolls have the guts to be trolls, only they waste their time on such trivia as seen across the boards, time passes xxxxx, and then these years catch up with one in bitter regret I guess..."

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Having read all the rules of writing, the gatecrasher wondered where the rules ended and individual self expression began. People followed the rules of each other and made nations like France and Germany. Then they followed more rules and lost those countries in a new rule called the EU.

"I can travel anywhere in the US or the EU and see tons of cultural diversity and so many languages." he noted, "Only the architecture and buildings are unique in the EU. The rest is mostly just a cloned copy of the US."

With so many rules, he could read one author then read another and wonder if he was reading manuscripts, written by sock puppets. Many plots could be recycled and that seemed cool if the story was different. But the same themes always lurked in the shadows.

"Keep it PC." the drummer demanded, "Never say anything that might offend or cause a row. Study the list of countries and people that should be bashed and put the rest on a pedestal. Watch your language!"

It was all over the movies too and the gatecrasher wondered if the Manchurian Candidate was living in Hollywood. Sometimes it seemed almost as creepy as Halloween!
But stepping over that red line, the gatecrasher continued writing chapter eight.

"If anyone can't deal with it, then they'll just have to suck it up." the gatecrasher concluded, "Nobody can be an epic gatecrasher without stepping on somebody's toes."

__________________It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. - Albus Dumbledore

K. So now Turkey wants to finger the EU and join the SCO. Russia and China are willing but they also need input from Kazakhstan, kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, and probably Belarus too.
And a huge food fight is all over Russia. Nobody can order a coffee Americano, only a coffee Russiano, and a Manhattan is called a Maryina Roscha. Medvedev went totally viral.

But it's only 3 days till Thanksgiving or Turkey Day or Native American Day or maybe just that special day when people nom turkey and ham? But what Djafkri really craved was Italian with tons of spaghetti and sausages.

"Well, at least there's no issues about the other controversial day that Christians call Christmas." he concluded, "We only celebrate Ded Moroz and Snegurochka on New Year's and that totally bypasses those issues."

Change the name and keep changing the name but when they open their eyes they still see the same dragon. Only politicians and journalists keep their eyes shut till the dragon breathes flames and torches all their illusions. Then anti-Trump protests, Hillary epic drama, and everyone looks all wtf!

Said another Trump supporter, called the gatecrasher, who was also totally wtf? since the media and other politicians were so totally certain that Hillary would pwn the election...

__________________It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. - Albus Dumbledore

repost from elsewhere, the troll's forum where the goblin had been convalescing

"...thanks, guess one is what one is then, a simple compromise between how one wants to be here and just how one turns out perhaps..." replied the goblin seeing xxxxxx rallying well against that other troll there, then adding "...me I've been trying to avoid all this talk about the result of the american election of only because it's a base speculation as to what trump will do now regardless of whatever he stood for or how he seems today, simply we won't know for sure until his policies go firmly in place, whereas most folks by now see capital hill is some murderous consensus of corruption, so much so that one might ever think capital hill has got its new devil to reign over all...", whereupon the goblin just cried aloud "...the devil you knew is dead, long live the new devil you don't know yet ah but it's still one hell of a corrupt system..."

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"...the US technically went broke with the nixon shock when its annual deficits caused it to came off the gold standard..." mentioned the goblin before adding "...then that gold standard there was replaced by the petrodollar standard, where that in its turn ended when the saudis said they would accept other currencies in 2014...", to which the goblin just added "...all empires go bankrupt as their money gets replaced by the next empire alone, but that's just "welcome back to history" as it were, rather obvious looking back, where america today only looks different because it is our "now", yet didn't every empire think exactly that of themselves at their zenith, yet america would turn its weapons upon others countries now, the nato russian war seems on the cards, but in truth it's real enemy has been that globalization and all those corporations that offshore their finance and outsource their production to the point where they weren't american any more but were "multinationals" instead..."

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Getting banned by administration is a calculated risk involving the likes of me. Ogrish for example has been trying for ages to get me back...fuck that. It's the principal. Same applies to many a forum. Adult sites are for adults...grow some fucking balls I say. Nothing worst than a group of pathetically weak individuals that assume the voice of any forum. In xxxxx's words..."step the fuck down!"

"...all subplots in my view, where it's ever so easy to get caught in them..." ventured the goblin continuing "...but the question remains of what you want from your being here, I mean there's no "fame or fortune" to be gained by this, so it kind of throws one back upon one's own devices and goals as it were, me I just converse with those who would converse with me while editing on that which in have replied in previous conversations, so there is this then, plus there is also the feedback loop between that which I have written on the page and that which I am still thinking to write, just one plays off the other, like seeing the direction of one's thoughts as it were by first plotting them out, I mean it's this or my reality now..."

clicking the link that brought him here the goblin first enjoyed the posted replies and then sat through the silence of the night fishing through his thoughts as he cast his mind back over the day, anyway, it would have been here at his computer or in bed as his day always seemed to end in a defrag, that was, before it all switched over to sleep mode and the screen saver of dreams, he fished on "...ours is to witness..." a line the goblin had proposed to himself but then returned it too back to the ether, settling for the simpler "...it's the last gift..." something he hoped it would do towards the tally, other lines would come, yet in the morning the tally, in its turn, would be forgotten save perhaps for a line once in a while, this then was all that his posting life was, all it could ever be really, but it was still something all the same

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me attacking people.. I´m just blurting out stuff.. If you wanna consider it as an attack.. Just remember I´m a 10ft monster.

"...well of course he's a ten foot monster, most trolls are you know..." went the goblin who finally understand how the thread went, summed up by "nowhere in particular, fast", then continuing"...but they're slow and somewhat dimwitted too, so you'll just have to get used to it I guess, and to only post occasionally too, to show that you're there both listening and not listening really..." meanwhile the moon was a smile in the night's sky for the cloudy day had cleared too late it seemed, while the goblin looking on wanted to be as carefree as one of these troll now, save that his intellect warned against losing sight of his own goals, asking "...so if you know what you're about, and what here is all about too, then ok then, but if not...., doesn't that generous admin there collect gullible donkeys for the circus at the end of all this..."

repost from elsewhere, the "show your face" thread, continuation if there could be one of the above

Oy vey! Bienvenue à la partouze du siècle!

the goblin returned, the sun was just beginning to break through the morning's fog, and by noon it would be sunny day for all its cold, in fact geneva resembled venice at this point and venice always reminded one of death didn't it, to which point the goblin just saluted the trolls on their turf again, asking "...what point a troll now, yet isn't this our masked ball between us here, just another venice in its way, for in truth you wear your troll masks well, where your trolls are aptly deemed as such by those whom you come across and whom would ban you from their midst for your graceless antics...", the goblin waved a hand across the host in turn and looked around yet could tell not male from female, nor age, nor height, nor weight, nor anything substantial like that, just their masks really, he knew them by their masks alone, yes that music he knew too, their cues, their lines, and all the rest of that act as well, smiling "...venice it is then, where you live and die in this masked ball of the internet here, so make the most of it for the ball doesn't come twice now..." as the goblin in his turn joined in the slow dance

out of all the luck i've ever had. the luckiest thing i've ever done. was learn to read hard sci-fi at age eight. sci-fi helped me learn i could keep hundreds (if not thousands) of words and concepts on the ready. in case i should encounter them again in another book. indexing all (more or less) in my own mind.

"...one can see your latent potential in your posts, where you're moving out from the more defensive one liners that are the norm upon these trolls forums to something more like yourself now, is that better though, I don't know, depends much upon your outlook I guess, where I suppose if you wanted just to be another troll here then no, yet if you didn't care about what others thought of you for your own goals here then yes then..." observed the goblin minding what other thought somewhat but never swayed from his own goal as it were, adding "...posting or not, you live on while your posts do not, thus this all becomes writing in a live context, something that ingrains itself in the time remaining to you, simply you look at what you have written and see if you and rewrite it better, you then repost it to see if it will be read, and lastly you store it away to reuse again, it's just air/edit/backup as it were...", the flickering christmas décor of the bistro this morning was distracting enough though fortunately the music was still pop, the goblin was seated amongst the humans around him who were chatting away, the old man dealt with them where need be while goblin choose to chat on internet here instead, saying "...the choice is ever yours though, mine is made by what you read of me now..."

"...aren't they just the peak of the iceberg there, the visible bit above the waterline there, but no, I suspect in reality that they aren't even a hundredth of the total corruption of of capital hill today, even trump is corrupt too, why, because it's politics and in politics one has to be manipulative to both get there and remain there, simply corruption is and has always been the currency of politics where once one has that wealth and power there, then one yearns for the debauchery to go with it, those drugs, that easy sex, blackmails, bribes, assassinations, satanic rites, you name it, it's just "pay the price in corruption and it's yours", a circus of sociopaths in temperament resulting in psychopaths in practice, where that purity turns into debauchery much like snow turns into slush..."

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Back from holiday planet and all the lights and noise, the gatecrasher encountered an epic troll at one of his forums. He wondered how that affected him. It was amazing but somebody was in the kitchen preparing breakfast and it was still cold and wet outside. The planned shopping trip was still on the table, his new marble and red onyx chess set was still intact, Svyatka was still happening until the eighteenth, and the French press was full of fresh coffee. So maybe it changed up how I think, he pondered, but that seemed totally intact, as well.

"So trolls must be a lot like salesmen." he concluded, "Tons of useless sound waves that can't even shake the leaves on a tree before they drift off into the silence of space."

But Prada drifted back into the 1970's before the inauguration of Trump. New old fashions in earthy colors and cashmere sweaters, with landscape paintings, that parade down the runway with all the oncoming rebellion and angst. Missoni just hides in some Japanese colorful fireworks venue, while protesters line the streets, and A7x is still singing "Hail to the King".

...As he began to snarl, bright glints of sunlight burned in the deep blue void of his eyes. Perched high in a tree, he snagged a dead limb, with his three fingers and thumbs, that nearly betrayed his presence, as well. Not that it really mattered that much, so perhaps he may just let it fall, dissolving into a spectacle of strange symbols which, in turn, might fall on deaf ears. But he knew that there must be someone still lurking in the silence; a powerful force that causes animals to flee and the wind to stop howling.
"Only the eye of the storm." Chrmovk reminded, "They're still in the fields, planting the seeds."
Peering through the four, sea green slits of his eyes, he detected a gang of demons on the roadway, below. At each stop, in their journey, fierce dragons torched the trees, sending chaotic and angered residents scrambling out into their yards. Most carried signs and many wielded sticks and hammers. Smashing storefronts and howling, they swept through the streets at high tide.
"The demons are laughing." Djafkri observed.
Brushing the thick black and fuscia locks of his hair, from his eyes, he dropped to the ground. Chrmovk, close behind, appeared more cautious.
"Just another victory celebration." he readily concluded, "They pulled the right strings and their money is growing."
But Djafkri noticed the flea was still lurking in the distance so he just smiled.

"The demons may have the planet but it's not like everyone lives there." the gatecrasher concluded, "Most people live a world apart from the current social fiction; a tale told by madmen and mostly ignored by the beasts in the forests. But hey, nobody ever writes to the Colonel..."

__________________It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. - Albus Dumbledore

I was worried too. I went searching for the last date of his internet movements, and he's clearly still breathing - but hungry. Nothing to eat around here. He's found greener pastures to graze on.

Cook up some posts JC - the smell of a hot meal might guide him home. When it comes to Flea, i'm as selfish as a child. I just expect to roll up and get a hug and hospitality after months of not phoning.

__________________GRACE GABRIEL

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hi Grace! i think he'd got banned but it's been too long. i hope he gets back to us. he owes me thanks's. btw, i just tried to add you so hala. lol, if he were a mailman with fleas. i like the goblin's name.

So. Friday afternoon then, with a sky as grey as a gull's wing. The grass as green and perfumed as basil. A black cat lay sprawled on the window sill - limbs dangling like the sleeves of a disgarded sweater. Grace sat, captured by the sound of silence - so amplified through the valley that it pressed hard on her eardrums and whispered with the voice of the sea. Her house was empty, apart from the motley crew of quadripeds that were draped over the furniture like the survivors of a shipwreck. The same old clock struggled its way towards the hour with the heartbeat of a dying man. And Grace pencilled a few lines, smiling as the similes slopped on the paper along with her tea. "Well, there's really nothing ", Grace wrote, "but if the nothing is like something, well, then it can't be nothing in itself."

Grace pulled the tartan throw across her bare legs and stretched until her toes pressed the arm of the sofa. She admired the view framed by the window. Saw a plane ploughing upwards. A metal zipper pulling two halves of the sky together. She placed her cup out of harms way, knowing she would doze. She settled back, and watched the cherry tree tremble and cry blossom. Her eyelids felt heavy and soon closed. Somewhere, on the mezzanine between waking and sleeping, a shadow with an outstretched hand reached towards her. "Dance with me " was the last thing she heard.

__________________GRACE GABRIEL

Last edited by Grace Gabriel; 04-21-2017 at 07:54 AM..

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So. Late Sunday evening then. Five hours before Grace's alarm clock would vibrate its way off the nightstand to land face-down in her open handbag. Grace had busied herself with the necessary motherly duties needed to send her son off to school in the morning after a two week holiday. The missing lunchbox had been found (crushed and stinking) under the passenger seat on a midnight, torch lit reconnoitre. The yogurt cultures had been removed with yards of toilet roll and Dettol spray before the grinning and offensively fungal Marvel superheroes were launched into the washing machine. Shoes were shining. A black sock paired off with navy blue, due to limited time and utter disinterest. She had hurriedly dictated homework to her apathetic scribe whilst making a bolognese supper. She had policed the brushing of teeth and hair with renewed zeal. Observed a long-forgotten bed time and borne the plaintive choruses of " Muuuuum...I'm NOT tired" with patronising cheer. She had tiptoed into her offspring's man cave and switched off the torch that floodlit his sleeping face. Gently prised the book from his sweating cheek. Returned both to their hiding place under the pillow, lest his first tentative steps towards defiance were thwarted. Grace finally slumped on the sofa and tickled Bagheera's cheek - fingers working his whiskers like a violin virtuoso. He purred approval and pushed his forehead hard against hers. "I wish you knew how to make a cup of tea", Grace sighed.

__________________GRACE GABRIEL

Last edited by Grace Gabriel; 04-24-2017 at 12:01 AM..

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"Life happens." the gatecrasher noted, "But no way Flea has to be ninety."

Having watched his grandparents and even a few of his older friends, he knew cyber space - and even Snapchat - were magnets for political rants. Especially fifty plus but even Morgan. I deal with equations and party but some people deal with botany and president Trump. Like the American classic rock, politics and religion span generations... even GenX and old ravers that spin glowsticks and wear kandi like political memes.

It was the gatecrasher's opinion that a working knowledge of politics and shock were essential tools but nothing replaces what he just read. If his writing was as epic as Gabriel's, he would toss the equations and look for a publisher.

__________________It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. - Albus Dumbledore

So. Tuesday evening then. Dusk was even later still - the Spring evenings ever drawing out to indulge the hedgerow choir with more curtain calls. Grace sat on the window sill, diary on her lap, watching the freshly-washed countryside. The sky had swollen to a purple bruise and delivered a pounding downpour. Window flung wide, Grace breathed in the pungent smell of rain that stung her nostrils like peppermint. Her music was far too loud - but Beethoven's 'Silencio' was the perfect soundtrack to a brooding sky. Little Man slept blissfully, lulled by familiar sounds that had played him to sleep since he was a baby. The two of them had walked for miles that evening, and finished a joint of lamb between them for dinner. "Little Man's having a growth spurt", Grace wrote in her diary, "the boy eats like Henry VIII". Grace jumped down from the sill and padded across to her desk. She slipped her diary into the top drawer and pulled the keyboard towards her. "No, i'm quite sure Flea isn't ninety", she tapped to Djafkri, "but in Forumland, he can be whatever age he wants and wear whatever face suits him". Grace paused to bite off a broken fingernail and think. "The fun part is to be yourself here - with an honesty that perhaps isn't possible in daily life", Grace typed. "Your avatar can be whatever you want - but it's anonymity means your expression can always be the authentic you. So write your way - and don't abandon your unique style for anything sold as being 'the right way'. Promise? " And with that, she wished Djafkri goodnight, as she pulled on an old sweater and flip flops to deliver a pre-ravaged lamb-bone to some expectant foxes.

__________________GRACE GABRIEL

Last edited by Grace Gabriel; 05-09-2017 at 05:37 AM..

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So. Fast approaching 1.30am Thursday morning then - and Grace acknowledged her plans for an early night had gone awry. The phone had rung all evening - each call starting with the perfunctory foreplay of "how are you Grey?" - the question never more than a segway to her callers' ensuing lists of ailments, problems and mental torments that now occupied the forefront of Grace's mind like a box of angry frogs. So Grace made toast and covered it in strawberry jam and washed it down with hot chocolate. She had a hot bath serenely lit by candles. She carefully butchered her legs with a disposable razor before realising they should be disposed of BEFORE you're stupid enough to use them. She commanded her mind to let go of all of the detritus that she had absorbed which didn't belong to her - and her mind stared back with the stubborn refusal of a Labrador with a sock in its mouth. So Grace pulled the keyboard towards her and fervently typed "bollocks" before heading to the kitchen for more toast and jam and a couple of paracetamol - her legs stinging like a bitch as the hem of her nightdress whipped them as she walked.

__________________GRACE GABRIEL

Last edited by Grace Gabriel; 04-26-2017 at 04:37 PM..

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And Grace showed up - limbs warm and leaden with Sunday afternoon-ness. It was cold outside with a bitter wind. An oppressive grey sky draped Grace's world like an old sheet over a birdcage. The fireplace flickered it's warmth as the logs sighed and shifted in the grate. Grace and Little Man sprawled on the sofa - a comfortable tangle of limbs nesting amongst books, cushions and papers. These days without purpose or deadline were precious to Grace. The lazy conversations. The guileless 'I love you mum' sleepily murmured. Time to notice the birds swoop and drill in the wet grass. Time to press her palm against his, and marvel at how his little hands were too-quickly spreading towards the outline of his mother's. Time for Grace to take a mental snapshot then and hold them both in this moment forever.